


The Once Upon a Time Affair: By the seat of his pants

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Central America, Crash Landing, Gen, Helicopters, Snakes, Spies & Secret Agents, THRUSH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 08:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14131893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Kuryakin and his THRUSH captor manage to survive a plane crash in the jungles of Central America.





	The Once Upon a Time Affair: By the seat of his pants

**Author's Note:**

> The Prompt –
> 
> Almost twenty-four hours had passed since the Thrush plane had crashed, deep in the jungle, and of the four people aboard only two had survived. The pilots were both killed on impact, leaving Thrush agent {your choice}, and captured U.N.C.L.E. agent {your choice}.
> 
> The Theme – There is no specific theme this time around.
> 
> Note: The Once Upon A Time Affair is a writing challenge on section7mfu- Live Journal

 

Almost twenty-four hours had passed since the Thrush plane had crashed, deep in the jungle, and of the four people aboard only two had survived. The pilots were both killed on impact, leaving Thrush agent Elias Latimer and captured U.N.C.L.E. agent Illya Kuryakin.

The remnants of the Piper Twin engine Comanche was beginning to smolder and after a bit of prodding on Illya’s part to the only other survivor, he convinced the man that it was in their best interest to finally move farther away from the wreckage.

Grabbing what Latimer could, including the still handcuffed UNCLE agent, they made a dash for it into the jungle just as the plane exploded from the leaking fuel.

Latimer had previously tried to use the radio, but cursed it out as it only gave off a few sparks. Illya was surprised the fuel had taken this long to ignite. All it took was that small spark from a short in the radio thanks to the Thrushman; Illya tried to warn him not to do it...

The explosion sent a mushroom shaped plume of orange and red flame into the air, and as the remnants of the plane burned a column of black smoke rose above the jungle canopy.

“Come on Kuryakin! Move it!” Latimer barked as the Russian had been knocked to the ground by the concussion from the blast.

Illya struggled to his knees, blood trickling into his eyes again from a previous head wound that had reopened. They’d knocked him on the head when they captured him on a street in...where was it? It was Puerto Limón, for a moment his thoughts were a bit jumbled. He had a headache and was in pain. Mostly in his side and he could just imagine what it was.

“If you would remove the cuffs, it would make it easier to comply.”

“No way! I’m not taking any chances with you. I don’t know how you managed it, but it’s my way of thinking that you made the plane crash.”

“And how could I have possibly done that you _brainless bird._  I was in my seat the whole time until the plane went into the nose dive. It was most likely due to the incompetence of your pilots. THRUSH has such low standards when it comes to training.”

“Shut up!” Latimer backhanded Illya, knocking him down to the ground.

“Now is that really a good way to get me up and...and mo-ving.” Kuryakin stuttered just before he passed out.

“Oh _shiiiit!_ ”The beady-eyed Thrushman swore.

Straddling the Russian, he reached down grabbing Illya by the chin. “Wake up you stinking little pinko.”

Illya had feigned unconsciousness and kicked his right leg upwards, smashing his shin into Latimer’s groin.

He crumpled with a moan and Illya rolled over atop the Thrushman, grabbing Elias’ gun. There was a struggle for possession of it and just like in the movies...it went off.

Luckily neither man was hit, and Illya finally got the gun away from Latimer. He stood, aiming it at the Thrushman’s head as their roles were now reversed.

“The keys to the handcuffs if you please?” Illya politely demanded with an outstretched hand.

Elias opened his jacket, and slowly reached in, taking out the keys. In one quick motion he threw them into the brush.

Kuryakin erupted in a fit of anger and coldcocked Latimer with his own gun.

Illya double checked to see he was indeed knocked out. Just to be on the safeside he slipped his belt off and rolling Latimer over, he wrapped it around the man’s wrists, making it as tight as he could. Satisfied, that’s when he deemed it time to go search for the keys.

It took only ten minutes to locate them and freeing himself, Kuryakin returned to Latimer and now cuffed him.

He slipped back on his belt as his trousers were a bit loose and didn’t exactly relish them falling down on him in the middle of his escape.

Illya paused, listening. In the distance he could hear the sound of helicopter blades whipping the air.

He couldn’t take a chance as the pilots might have gotten off a mayday before the plane crashed and this could be the THRUSH rescue team.

 _“To hell with Latimer, no time to wake him and a prisoner would only slow me down,”_ Illya thought to himself as he grabbed the man’s backpack. And his snub nose .38. It held only six shots.

Illya took off at a run, disappearing into the jungle, far enough away that he no longer heard the chopper...but that was possibly because it had landed.

He stopped to catch his breath; his side was hurting and he lifted his shirt to see a large bruise blossoming on his pale skin; most likely broken ribs.  For now he had to ignore the discomfort and examine the contents of the backpack.

Latimer had done well in packing it; there was a canteen filled with water, a small first aid kit, a machete, a Bowie knife, matches, some C-Rations, a small compass. At least Illya knew what direction in which he was heading, but not knowing where he was made it of little use. The last item he found in the back was the best thing of all. 

“Yesss!” Illya hissed. It was a full box of cartridges. Fifty rounds, all jacketed hollow point bullets. Those could do some real damage. Feeling relief that he had them, he now hoped he wouldn’t have to use them.

He opened the first aid kit and grabbed a gauze pad and dabbed it with some iodine from a small bottle.  Sucking air as he touched it to his head wound, he suddenly froze.

Canting his head to one side, he heard voices in the distance now; they were using walkie talkies.

_“Bravo one, what’s your status? Click.”_

_“Found that idiot Latimer... said Kuryakin got away from him on foot. Click”_

_“Roger that Bravo one, we’ll find that little Russkie bastard. We’re picking up a tracking signal, though it’s weak. A couple hundred yards to your west. Over. Click”_

 

“A tracking device?” Illya practically growled. It had to be on his clothing somewhere and he hastily checked himself. He found it tucked beneath the back of his shirt collar.

 _“_ _Sukin syn,”_ he cursed under his breath in Russian. Illya quickly shoved the contents of the pack back into it, and slinging it over his shoulders, he took off trying to put some distance between him and this new flock of birds.

He finally stopped running, realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere other than deeper into the jungle, and most likely lost. Illya wasn’t even sure where the plane had come down.

It hadn’t been flying very long so he still had to be in Costa Rica. Realizing that, Kuryakin suddenly came up with a plan to get himself out of the jungle, and he only hoped it didn’t get him killed.

He would leave the tracker a little farther away then double back on his pursuers and get to their helicopter that hopefully wasn’t heavily guarded.

Granted, it was a seat of the pants plan, perhaps one Napoleon might be proud of, or the fact that his style of strategy might actually be rubbing off on his partner.

It couldn’t have turned out any better when a snake suddenly appeared...one called the _Serpiente de leche negra,_ in English that meant the Tropical Milk Snake. It was bright red black and white striped, resembling the deadly Coral snake, but not venomous.

 

Illya moved lightning quick with his hand, snatching it and holding the snake by the head, forcing its open its mouth with a stick. He tossed the tracking disk into it, and closing the snake’s mouth, he massaged its throat hoping it swallowed the device.

There was no time to check so he released the creature and he fled in the direction opposite to which it took off.

As he doubled back he could hear the voices again.

_“I got a strong signal, he’s heading that way. Over. Click.”_

Kuryakin ducked down as they passed near to where he was hiding. As soon as they were out of earshot, he took off.

He was soaked with sweat and breathless when he finally found their helicopter.  Fortunately there was only one man guarding it and that was Elias Latimer. He was apparently being left out of the hunt as punishment for his failure.  He was lucky that was it so far. If he made it back to their satrapy, he would most likely be killed to make an example of him.

Though Thrushies tended to be rather inept, those in charge chose to execute their people guilty of failure rather than give them second chances. They were lucky they still had men, given their low success rate.

Illya thought it best to take care of Latimer now; why let him suffer while pondering his fate? He moved quietly up behind the unsuspecting man, getting him in a stranglehold, and after a brief struggle, he snapped Latimer’s neck. Releasing the body, he let it fall to the ground without a second thought.

Climbing into the helicopter, and starting it; Kuryakin let it warm up. After putting on a headset,  the chopper rose into the air as he handled the controls with a practiced hand.

No doubt the other Thrushies could now hear it.

Illya adjusted the radio frequency to one monitored by the UNCLE field office in Costa Rica. Speaking in Spanish, he identified himself.

 _"CQ, CQ, CQ este es Illya Kuryakin ID número 426626. Estoy en necesidad de asistencia.¿Hay alguien de UNCLE por ahí?"_ ( _CQ, CQ, CQ this is Illya Kuryakin ID number 426626 I am  in need of assistance. Is anyone from U.N.C.L.E. out there?)_

There wasn’t an immediate response, not until they verified his identification. He repeated his message several times until finally there was a reply.

“This is UNCLE field office in Puerto Limón, how can we be of assistance Agent Kuryakin?”

“I am flying blind in a THRUSH helicopter...cancel that, a Bell helicopter. Am unsure of my location. I was originally a prisoner in a plane that crashed nearby approximately twenty-four hours ago. I escaped after it exploded.”

“Hold on Agent Kuryakin. We have reports of a plane going down south of the city.”

They gave him the coordinates and Illya was on his way to freedom. As he circled the crash site, high enough to be out of gun range, he could see the angry flock of birds below trying to shoot at him and shaking their fists at their failure to do so.

“Have fun walking home boys.” He waved to them as he flew off.

He suspected their punishment for losing him as well as a helicopter might be the same that Latimer would have gotten.

Soon after Kuryakin was sitting in the field office in Puerto Limón and had been able to shower and was given a change of clothing. He refused medical treatment, other than letting a small gauze bandage be taped to his head. Luckily his ribs weren't broken and were only badly bruised.

The clothing was not quite his style as it made him look like a _turista_ but at least he was clean and dry.

He wore a pair of baggy cotton pants, sandals, and a rather garish floral patterned shirt.

At the moment he was speaking via an older communicator…the cigarette case model, to Alexander Waverly.

“And how did this happen Mister Kuryakin?”

“I had just delivered the courier pouch to Agent Rodolfo Esteves and was preparing to head to the airport to return to New York. I was set upon and captured by THRUSH agents. I was never questioned and presumed they were moving me to one of their South American satrapies to be questioned there. It came across as a rather slipshod and ill planned operation. Their leader, one Elias Latimer, was killed in my escape."

“To our benefit Mister Kuryakin. Agent Esteves is safe, so one wonders why they took you,” Waverly sighed.

“Yes sir. That was never made clear.”

“Very well, once you have your new travel documents I want you on the next flight to New York…”the Old Man paused,” and have one of the agents from the Puerto Limón office escort you there. We don’t want a repeat of the incident. Report to me directly as soon as you arrive.”

“Yes sir, but might I stop for a change of clothing, as what I am wearing is somewhat inappropriate...”

“Don’t be ridiculous man, clothes are clothes.”

“Yes sir,”Illya sighed.

When Kuryakin arrived at headquarters in New York he was the immediate victim of giggles and stares, even Lisa Rogers was wide eyed as Illya entered Waverly’s conference room.

 

“Oh, I can see now why you were concerned about your clothing, but it does look quite comfortable,” Waverly flashed a brief smile as he eyed his agent’s attire.

After the debrief Illya headed to his office for a change of clothing. He and Napoleon always had an extra suit there in the closet, as well as packed suitcases. It paid to be prepared for a last minute assignment.

Solo, seated at his desk, looked up with a smile as the pneumatic doors opened and his partner entered.

“Trying to make a fashion statement tovarisch? I think you might want to rethink the look this time of year in New York since it's a bit chilly. Whoever did the tailoring for you should give you a refund.”

 _“Are you done?_ ” Illya snapped at him.

As soon as his partner removed his shirt Napoleon saw the wicked bruise on his side.

“Hey shouldn’t you get that looked at?”

“I plan to as soon as I am out of these awful clothes.” He lied.

“Are you going to tell me how you ended up in them? You were on a courier run in Central America weren’t you?”

“Yes, but I ran into a flock of birds who wanted to take me ...somewhere, though I never found out where that was."

Illya slipped into a black tee shirt, and after dropping the cotton pants he put on a pair of his black trousers. Once that was done he sat down in his desk chair, putting on a pair of socks and slipped into a comfortable pair of black loafers. He let out a hiss when he did that.

He leaned forward, showing his partner the gash in his scalp. “I am sure it will need stitches, and I will need wrapping for a few bruised ribs.”

“The price we pay for the job we do...Illya can I get you anything? After you’re done in medical would you have lunch with me, or rather on me. Whatever you like.”

“No. Rest is what I need.”

“You must be feeling pretty lousy to refuse free food.”

“Truth be told, I am. Not just physically but mentally. I let THRUSH get the drop on me while performing a simple milk run. I let my guard down, but that will not happen again.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It happens to the best of us, hey it’s not easy to be ‘on’ twenty-four seven.”

 _“Nyet_.” Illya sliced the air with a wave of his hand. “My performance was unacceptable.”

Napoleon could hear the anger in Illya’s voice and knew better than to try to convince his stubborn partner otherwise. He remained silent as Illya put on his suit jacket and headed out the door.

Solo picked up the phone, calling up to the Medical Suite and asked for Doctor Greene.

“Doc it’s Napoleon, I need a favor.”

The doctor hesitated. “What is it now?”

“Illya is on his way up for some basic treatment...stitches in his scalp. Could you see fit to keep him overnight for observation?”

“Oh, that’s it? I think we can manage that.”

“Thanks Doc, and don’t let him have any food. I’m going to have something sent up for him. He’s being a bit hard on himself and…”

“Enough said Napoleon. I know what it’s like when our Russian gets in one of his moods. I will have to give him some lime jello though, just to make sure he has no internal bleeding.”

“Oh peachy,” Napoleon cringed at the thought of that. Fair enough then, thanks.”

Illya wasn’t happy when Doctor Greene ordered him to stay for observation; all he wanted to do was to go home and crawl into his own bed.  Though he slept on the flight from Costa Rica, then entire episode had drained his strength and his emotion.

He wouldn’t admit it to Greene but he was in way more pain than he let on. Living through a small airplane crash left him very sore, over and above the injury to his head and ribs.

As usual the surly Russian bear snarled at the nurses, taking it out on them but only verbally.

They knew better than to have any sort of projectile within Illya’s reached that could be hurled across the room or out into the corridor for that matter, and had cleared out his room ahead of his being admitted.,

“Illya are you hungry?” Nurse Walsh asked.

She held out a plate of green jello.

“No, I refuse. I have no internal bleeding, you have checked my urine output and that other intrusive test and I am fine! Just leave me alone... _please?_ Why can I not just go home? He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his lower lip protruding like a petulant child.

“Sorry doctor’s orders, you know better.” Nurse Walsh hightailed it out the door in a blur of white before Kuryakin could let go another tirade at her. She was smart enough not to leave the jello.

Illya was left alone to stew a while, and he did just that. His head was lowered in thought, going over again and again what had happened to him in _Limón_ as the city was frequently called.

“ _Perhaps Napoleon is right, you are being too hard on yourself.You are not perfect and you make plenty of mistakes, bolvan,” Illya ruminated on the matter, calling himself a blunderhead._

He raised his nose, sniffing the air as something had gotten his attention.

Napoleon strolled into his partner’s room pushing a lunch cart. On it were several covered dishes.

“I thought you could use a bit of cheering up tovarisch. _Et voila!”_

He lifted the stainless steel covers revealing a very large bowl of _borscht,_  as well an overflowing plate of dumpling-like _pelmeni_. Accompanying the food was piping hot tea in a glass with a Russian style tea glass holder, adorned with the hammer and sickle.

“For me?” Illya tried to hide a smile.” _Borscht_ made with cabbage?”

“Exactly the way you like it. I had it brought in from your favorite restaurant in Little Odessa.” Napoleon set the food on the bed table and watched as his partner dug in with enthusiasm.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy your first course.”

“First course? Napoleon what did you do?”

“Well if you’re up to it, there’s stuffed cabbage, along with those meat pies...what are they called again?”

 _“Pirozhki…_ ” Illya answered after swallowing a mouthful of soup. “Oh I am definitely up to it.” This time Kuryakin smiled.

“Thank you my friend. Only you know how to assuage my foul moods. Sorry I was so short with you earlier."

“Don’t mention it partner. That’s what friends are for. Just call one of the nurses when you’re ready for the next round.” Napoleon gave a little salute as he exited the hospital room.

 

“So that’s the secret to soothing the savage Kuryakin,” Nurse Walsh stood outside Illya's room with her hands on her hips.”Just feed him Russian food huh?”

“Shh,” Solo put his finger to his lips.”That’s top secret.”

“My lips are sealed,” the nurse winked,”for a price.”

“Ahhh blackmail is most unbecoming my dear,” Napoleon smiled.”Dinner tonight?”

“Done deal,”Nurse Walsh grinned.


End file.
